


Wake Up Call

by jasmasson



Series: The Beer Boys [1]
Category: Troy (2004) RPF
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2005-06-10
Updated: 2005-06-10
Packaged: 2017-10-19 09:38:49
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,038
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/199460
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jasmasson/pseuds/jasmasson
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Eric wakes Orlando up.  To a lot of things.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Wake Up Call

**Author's Note:**

> Warnings: Mention of a little kinky play, excessive swearing and appallingly sappy smut.  
> Disclaimer: And I said to Orlando, “Orlando,” I said, “Do you really love Eric?” And Orlando said. “Don’t call me Orlando, my name’s Dave. Now listen, luv, you’re holding up the queue. Do you want fries with that or not?”  
> A/N: A little Banalando snippet for [](http://montmorency.livejournal.com/profile)[**montmorency**](http://montmorency.livejournal.com/).

***

Orlando awoke to the unmistakable smell of hot, strong coffee.

“Mmm,” he moaned in part annoyed tiredness and part appreciation as he forced open his eyes.

There indeed was a cup of coffee waving inches from his face. Even at this hour of the morning, however, Orlando was able to deduce that it probably wasn’t levitating in mid-air, and Orlando identified a hand, and an arm, which was attached to a body and finally a face...

“Eric!” Orlando sat up in shock, nearly knocking over the coffee. “The fuck?” He blinked. 6 feet 4 of grinning Australian did not just disappear.

“What the hell are you doing here? And, wait a minute...” He glanced around briefly to check he was, in fact, in his own bed, in his own house in Los Angeles and hadn’t forgotten some mad spur-of-the-moment trip to the Land of Oz. No, happily, he wasn’t *quite* that flaky, and his own bed it was. “How the hell did you get in here?”

“You told me how, you idiot.” Eric got up from where he’d been sitting on Orlando’s bed. *Sitting on Orlando’s bed.* Orlando rubbed his eyes. There was something very wrong here.

“I never did,” Orlando denied absently, thinking he should probably worry about rabid fangirls if it was this easy to break into his house.

“Yes you did, you said,” Eric handed Orlando the coffee and put on a (really quite good) British accent, “‘Eric, if you ever need a place to stay in LA, you must use my house there. I always keep a spare key under the third flowerpot from the left, and the security code’s my mum’s birthday.’”

“I never said that,” Orlando denied stubbornly, gripping the coffee cup.

“OK, sure. I just guess real well,” Eric grinned again. “C’mon you lazy bastard, get up. I’ve made breakfast.”

Bemused, Orlando obediently got up out of bed. He was only wearing his boxers and he thought Eric’s eyes snagged on them as he looked at him. Orlando looked hurriedly down at himself to check there wasn’t any coffee, or *God* something worse on them, but was hit seconds later in the face with his robe.

“C’mon mate,” Eric said again, as he breezed out of Orlando’s bedroom. “It’ll get cold.”

Dragging on his robe and clutching at his precious coffee, Orlando obediently followed Eric into the kitchen, where there were plates of French toast, cinnamon toast and hot bagels for breakfast. Hmmm. Orlando’s favourites. As he sipped his coffee (Eric really did make *way* better coffee than him) and nibbled on a slice of French toast, he thought this was almost worth being woken up at... Bloody hell!

“Eric, it’s seven o’clock in the fucking morning. What the hell *are* you doing here?”

“Can’t just I drop by and see a mate?”

“Not when said mate lives 8,000 miles away, and *not* at seven o’clock in the fucking morning. You couldn’t have called? It couldn’t wait for daylight?”

Eric looked suddenly uncomfortable. “I couldn’t wait. I was nervous.”

“Nervous?” Orlando felt his own heart begin to beat a little faster. Like he was nervous himself. God, Eric was such a bastard to wake him up at seven am and make him vicariously nervous.

“I’ve been thinking. We need to talk.”

Orlando now felt a little nausea to go along with his nerves. No coffee was worth this. He hated it when Eric was a man of talk instead of action. When Eric was a man of action, it led to 'Paris' on his hands and knees on the floor of the costume trailer with his skirts up around his waist getting thoroughly fucked by 'Hector’s' (prett damn large) cock.

When Eric wanted to *talk* however, it ended up with Orlando cold and alone and feeling stupid, hurt and used.

“To talk,” he echoed numbly.

“Yeah.” Eric shifted uncomfortably. “Look, let’s just finish breakfast first, OK?”

Orlando nodded and picked up some cinnamon toast.

God, he must have been drunk to tell Eric how to get into his house. Giving Eric free run of his house, as well as his body and heart was really fucking stupid. Giving Dom the password to your email stupid. Letting Lij borrow your car stupid. Climbing onto roofs and breaking your back *fucking* stupid.

And now Eric wanted to talk about something so awful he woke Orlando up at seven a.m. and *then* needed time to work up to it.

Orlando threw down his toast with one bite taken out of it.

“Yeah, I’m done with breakfast,” he said with a wry smile. “What is it?”

Eric put down his own toast.

“Uh. OK. Look,” he began. “I wanted to talk about Malta.”

“No kidding?” Orlando felt a little sarcasm-as-weapon was appropriate.

“Yeah,” Eric grinned weakly at him. “Look. What we had. What we did. It was, uh,” Orlando watched a flush creep up Eric’s neck. “It was great. Better than great, it was fucking amazing. It was the best.”

“Yeah,” Orlando’s hoarse voice was due to the earliness of the hour.

“But, I feel, you know, it didn’t end all that well.”

“Hmm,” Orlando shrugged non-committally. *I know.* He wanted to shout. *You know. Beanie knows because I called him at fuck only knows what time to blabber incoherently down the phone at him. The fucking carpet in my room in Malta will never forget, because that stain where I threw up on it from alcohol, shame, misery and some other stuff that was really fucking bad for me, is never coming out.*

“I know we’re still friends, but, Orlando, if I hurt you at all, I’m really sorry. It wasn’t about you. It was me being an idiot.”

“Forget it,” Orlando said, shortly. God, he couldn’t take apologies. He could take being friends. He could take kissing the lovely Mrs Bana on the cheek. He could take being invited over to their home to observe Bana Domestic Bliss ™, but he couldn’t take apologies and frankly Eric was a selfish bastard to offer them just to make *him* feel better.

“I can’t,” Eric continued regardless. “I know I acted like it didn’t mean anything, but it did. It meant too much and I was scared by it, by *you*, and that made me a jerk. I’m sorry.”

“It’s fine,” Orlando tried to cut him off again, before he either threw up over Eric’s nice cinnamon toast, or threw his coffee over Eric.

“It’s not! Jeez, mate, will you let me finish?” Eric was suddenly amused through all his discomfort and nerves. “I came a long way, you know.”

Eric’s eyes were warm in his humour and he smiled, and Orlando couldn’t resist him, the *total* bastard, and resigned himself to making Eric feel better.

“Sorry,” he couldn’t believe he was apologising to Eric, who’d wrung his heart out and pinned it to his bloody wall like art for all to see, and had come for a second go so he can get it *just right* at, let’s not forget, *seven o’clock in the fucking morning*. “Go on.”

“It meant too much, and I, well, I didn’t want to be gay or bi or whatever-the-hell. I just wanted to be a straight Aussie bloke with a lovely wife and good mates and a healthy love of beer.” Eric grinned at his cliché. “Pretty stupid, huh?”

“Yes,” Orlando said, wholeheartedly. If he had to hear this, he may as well get some digs in. “Macho asshole.”

“Thanks. Anyway, I figured it couldn’t mean anything if it was just you, because, well, you know, *you*. That fancying you somehow didn’t make me gay because you’re so. Well. Beautiful.”

Orlando cringed slightly. It always came back to that. His fucking face.

“Right,” he said miserably, not looking at Eric. He remembered Dom snogging him madly in front of cameras and then slapping his ass and whispering “Pretty enough to make straight men gay.” Orlando was pretty sure Dom was just shifting blame there (like he’d ever been straight) but the joking words had hurt.

Eric must have picked up on something in Orlando’s posture.

“No, wait, I’m stuffing this up again.” Eric reached over and, rather shockingly for a butch Aussie bloke, took Orlando’s hand.

“I played it down, I know. I acted like it was nothing, and I thought that when I got home, away from you, I wouldn’t think of it again.”

Orlando remembered careless words about on-set-romances, and tensions, and gorgeous co-stars and felt the nausea rising again.

“But I was wrong.”

Surprised, Orlando looked up.

“You were?” He frowned. “In what way?”

“In every fucking way.” Eric grinned. “Except maybe one. It didn’t mean nothing, and I didn’t stop thinking about you. And, well, having sex with another man is quite the hallmark of non-straightness, no matter who they are. But it might have been because you were beautiful.”

Orlando couldn’t stop flinching a little at that.

“Not just this though,” Eric gestured vaguely at Orlando’s face. “Everything about you.”

Orlando raised an eyebrow.

“You know you’re gorgeous, but you’re beautiful in other ways. You’re smart and stupid at the same time, you’re caring, you’re friendly, you’re funny. You make shit coffee, you can’t sit still for five minutes, you lose everything you own at least once a week and you’re sitting here listening to me, even though you’d rather be having your teeth pulled, because you want to make me feel better even though I’ve been a total jerk.”

Eric reached up in by far the most romantic gesture he and Orlando had ever shared and pushed a wayward curl away.

“You know, even now, just woken up, with messy hair, creased face and a little dried drool by your mouth - and I’ve got to tell you, by the way, you’ve looked better - you’re still beautiful to me. Everything about you is beautiful to me. I was scared in Malta, because I was fucking in love with you, and I had no idea how to deal with that at all.”

“You were *what*?” Orlando stopped rubbing the drool off his face in shock. The world around Orlando went a little dark at the edges. And this was worse, much worse, than he’d ever imagined. Because Eric may be a little insensitive, a little bit of a macho jerk sometimes, and a little bit crazy, but telling Orlando, “Oh yeah, I used to be in love with you” when Orlando was trying *so fucking hard* to get over the bastard, was downright cruel.

“In love with you. I thought about you all the time. I wanted to touch you constantly. My heart beat like I’d run a fucking marathon every time you smiled at me. And I couldn’t deal with it. I’m sorry.”

“You’re sorry,” Orlando repeated weakly.

“Yes. I realised it when I missed you so much there was an aching void in my chest when Troy was finished. I couldn’t carry on when it became clear that while I still loved my wife, it was nothing compared to what I felt for you. So I left her.”

“You. Did. What?” Orlando couldn’t even breathe, each word was a whisper.

“Don’t panic! Orlando, really, I’ve not come here to tell you I’ve left my wife for you. I just realised I’m not in love with her any more, and it wasn’t fair to her or to me to stay. I don’t expect anything from you, honestly. I just wanted you to know why I acted like an idiot and to tell you I was sorry.”

“I can’t believe this,” Orlando shook his hand free of Eric’s and stood up angrily. “You treat me like shit, then you tell me you were in love with me, and then you tell me you’ve left your wife. But not for me. For future happy, possibly gay, romances *with someone else*. You *utter bastard*. How do you think that makes me feel? Being *this fucking close* only for you to kick me in the balls again?!”

“No, wait,” Eric looked alarmed and confused. “That’s not what I meant.” He fielded the piece of toast that was suddenly hurled at him, and was glad he hadn’t made cereal.

“I just. I just didn’t want you to feel pressured or guilty. Like me leaving her was your fault.”

“It wasn’t my fault! Believe me, I know *exactly* whose fault all this is,” Orlando glared at him, and picked up a bagel.

Eric raised his hands quickly in a gesture of peace (and to fend of the bagel if necessary).

“I know! I know. It’s completely my fault. I know. But I just wanted you to know I’m sorry. That I’m in love with you, and that even though I left my wife I don’t expect anything from you. It’s been a long time and I’ve been an idiot, but I couldn’t not tell you. That’s all.”

“You’re *in* love with me?”

“Yeah. That’s what I said.”

“No,” Orlando looked a comical hybrid of furious and hopeful. “You didn’t. You said you *were* in love with me. Past. Tense.”

“Oh,” Eric looked a little sheepish. “Well, that’s because I was talking about before, when I was a jerk.”

“As opposed to *now* when you’re being a jerk?” Orlando asked sarcastically.

“Uh, yes. Apparently. Look. I was in love with you then when I was being a jerk. I am in love with you now while I’m stuffing this up. And I will be in love with you in the future when you’re not talking to me for both of the above. Is that clear enough?”

“So you’re in love with me?”

“Yes. You know, this is one of those times when you’re not as smart as you might be.”

Eric was ready for the bagel and it bounced harmlessly on the floor.

After glaring at Eric for a moment, Orlando suddenly deflated and sat back down looking a bit lost.

“I don’t know. I don’t know what to say.”

Eric got up and knelt in front of him.

“Say, ‘Eric, even though you’ve been a jerk, I still love you and if you promise not to ever be a stupid asshole again, I’ll let you try, *try* and make it up to me.’”

Orlando smiled helplessly. “Eric, even though you’ve been a jerk, I still love you and if you promise not to ever be a stupid asshole again, I’ll let you try, *try* and make it up to me.” He paused. “And if you ever hurt me again, you bastard, I’ll emasculate you with this knife.” He picked up a knife from the breakfast table and solemnly showed it to Eric.

“This one?” Eric asked. “It’ll be this one?”

“Yes.” Orlando replied seriously. “I’m going to put a sticker on it so I know which one it is, and can identify it instantly.”

Eric tested the edge. It was quite blunt.

“Would you mind if I had it sharpened? I’d like it over with quickly.”

“Of course,” Orlando said magnanimously. “I’m not cruel.”

“Thanks.”

They smiled at each other for a moment, before Eric’s eyes darkened.

“Kiss me?” He asked hopefully.

Orlando bent over to touch Eric’s upturned face.

“I don’t know if I’m happy the beard’s gone or not,” he mused as he stroked Eric’s smooth cheek. “At least I won’t get beard-burn, but I thought it looked good.”

He was delaying, and they both pretended not to notice his hand shook a little as he touched Eric.

Finally he bent over and brushed his lips against Eric’s.

The blood rushed to Eric’s cock in a hurry.

“Christ,” he whispered softly as Orlando pulled back. “I’ve missed you so much.”

“Yeah.” Orlando sighed.

Eric reached for the belt to Orlando’s robe and pulled it open. He tugged it off of Orlando’s shoulders and left him sitting there just in his boxers, his half-hard cock straining at the soft cotton.

“You do look amazing when you’ve just woken up,” he said, gently mouthing Orlando through the thin material, hearing his soft gasp. He pulled back and surveyed the wet material clinging to Orlando’s stirring cock. “When you got out of bed, just in these, looking all mussed and confused it was all I could do not to throw you back on the bed and have my way with you.”

Orlando laughed. “Going to ravish me, were you? So macho.”

“Yep,” Eric said. “So I’m going to do it now, instead.”

He yanked Orlando’s boxers down forcefully and pulled them off completely.

He took a moment to appreciate the picture of debauchery Orlando made sitting naked and bronzed, all tight muscled limbs and soft smooth skin, erection stiff and swollen.

He leant over and kissed the tender ridges of Orlando’s flat smooth belly. Licking gently at the soft slightly salty skin.

“Fuck,” Orlando whispered and threw his head back.

*Yes indeed,* Eric thought, but his mouth was busy tasting Orlando’s skin and so he just moaned softly between open mouthed kisses on Orlando’s sensitive belly which quivered under his ministrations.

He licked carefully at Orlando’s belly button, before letting his tongue dart in.

“Shit,” Orlando yelled and jerked violently, and Eric had to hold him down, which made Eric’s dick throb obscenely in his pants. He tongue-fucked Orlando’s belly button leisurely, until Orlando pulled sharply at his hair.

“Stop teasing me, you bastard,” Orlando’s voice was hoarse and his hips jerked up uncontrollably, making his cock slide wetly against Eric’s neck. “You’ve made me wait too fucking long already.”

Eric murmured his assent against Orlando’s slick flat belly and dropped one last kiss on the sharp ridges of his hipbones before moving his mouth down where Orlando *needed* him to be.

He didn’t tease any more, but sucked Orlando’s cock into his mouth and lavished it with loving swipes of his tongue.

Orlando was writhing and muttering obscenely. “Fuck, Eric... please... your mouth... fuck... missed you so *fucking much*... missed this... *fuck*...”

Eric held Orlando’s hips down firmly and sucked furiously. He’d missed this too. Maybe he should have realised he was totally gay when he took to cock sucking like a natural, and Orlando was pretty damn big.

Orlando’s stream-of-consciousness had lost words long ago and become a general stream of moaning, when his hands tightened in Eric’s hair and he gasped out, “Gonna come, Eric, fuck, please,” and came extravagantly in Eric’s mouth.

Eric licked Orlando’s softening cock clean and stroked his thighs gently as he shuddered in the aftermath of his orgasm.

When Orlando’s moans quieted he kissed Orlando’s wet cock one final time and looked up. Orlando was sprawled limply and covered in a sheen of sweat, panting and flushed from his orgasm, and his lips were swollen where he’d been biting them.

Eric growled softly and pulled at Orlando’s legs, pulling him down off the chair and more or less onto his lap. He retained enough sense to stop Orlando’s head hitting the chair, and as he cradled his head in his hands, he pulled him into a kiss, biting and licking at Orlando’s lips.

He shoved the chair out of the way and laid Orlando down on his back on the kitchen floor. He kissed and sucked at Orlando’s lips while frantically unbuttoning his jeans, and jerking them and his boxers down to his knees, freeing his straining cock.

He settled down again and when he managed to thrust his cock between Orlando’s slick thighs he made a noise that was embarrassingly almost like a howl, and sucked furiously at Orlando’s neck.

“Eric,” Orlando moaned a little breathlessly, “Eric, get up.”

That was a really stupid idea. He sucked harder at Orlando’s neck, picturing the monstrous hickey that would result, and thrust blissfully between his thighs.

“Eric,” Orlando said, more insistent now. “Get up. Bedroom.”

“No,” he whispered, not stopping. “Here. Now.”

Orlando pulled at his hair and forced his head back to look at him.

“Eric. Listen to me. Move. You will thank me for this. Bedroom. There are condoms and lube in the bedroom.”

Incentive. Suddenly the kitchen floor was remarkably unappealing.

Eric struggled up and virtually *dragged* Orlando after him into the bedroom keeping his jeans and boxers precariously up with his other hand.

Orlando, one orgasm to the good, was laughing at him. Smug little bastard. He pushed him down onto the bed.

“Does this caveman routine work on all the girls?” Orlando mocked.

“It only has to work on you from now on,” Eric replied. He missed the rather sappy look this earned him as his eyes darted around the room as if he expected condoms and lube to leap out at him. “Where are they?” he asked a little desperately.

“Here,” Orlando took pity on him and rolled over to reach into the drawer in the bedside cabinet.

This gave Eric a perfect view of Orlando’s bare ass. And halle-fucking-lujah. Orlando’s ass was a divine work of art. A miracle. And Eric had shucked his clothes and was on him before he could turn back round. He reached over Orlando and grabbed the lube and condom from him practically as soon as it was in his hand.

He pulled Orlando face down into the middle of the bed and reached for a pillow, pushing it under his ass for better access. He spread Orlando’s legs and settled between them.

He fumbled the cap off the lube and slicked up his fingers. He hurriedly pushed one lubed finger into Orlando, who moaned softly and pushed his ass up for more.

“Fuck, Eric, so fucking good.”

And suddenly Eric stopped. He didn’t need to hurry. His cock still throbbed demandingly, but they had all the time in the world. They had *forever*.

His finger gentled, and he leaned over to kiss against Orlando’s neck.

“I’m going to make it so good. I’m going to show you how much I fucking love you.”

Orlando shivered. “Was that ‘fucking love you’ or ‘love fucking you?’” he asked, trying for lightness.

“Fucking” he kissed Orlando’s neck. “Love,” he nibbled gently at his ear. “You,” he kissed gently at the side of Orlando’s mouth he could reach.

“Show me then,” Orlando whispered.

And so he did. He stretched Orlando slowly and thoroughly until Orlando was shaking and hoarse from alternating pleas and curses and then turned him over onto his back.

He moved between Orlando’s spread thighs and sank slowly into his tight heat as he kissed him gently over and over. He thrust slowly, fucking Orlando with infinite tenderness, whispering soft nonsense words of devotion against his hot skin until they both came and slumped exhausted, together on the bed.

He held Orlando close to him, and it took a moment before he could say anything.

“I love you,” he’d said it a lot today, but hell, it bore repeating. Quite a lot actually. Over and over again.

“Yes. I heard you.” Orlando grinned and stretched. “I *felt* you.”

“Good,” Eric said pulling him close and kissing him gently again.

“Man, you’ve gotten really soft.” Orlando said, poking him teasingly. “Once you let go of macho idiocy, you really do let go.”

“I have not gotten soft,” Eric said indignantly.

“You bloody have,” Orlando was grinning like a cat with cream, “you were crying for a moment when you fucked me.”

“I *was not*,” Eric said horrified.

“Were too,” Orlando reached up and swiped his fingers across Eric’s face. They came away embarrassingly wet.

“It’s just sweat,” Eric denied ferociously.

“Right,” Orlando said with a mocking grin.

“I’ll show you bloody soft, you little wanker. Let’s play Hector and Paris.”

“Hmm. It won’t be as much fun without the costumes.”

“True. It was a lot of fun pushing up your little skirt, baring your tight, hot little ass you keep on taunting your big brother with. You needing to be taught a lesson...”

“Ungh...” Orlando shook himself out of it after a long moment. “Yeah. OK. First thing tomorrow I’m phoning Wolfgang for the costumes.”

“No need. They’re in my trunk.”

“You presumptuous bastard!”

Eric didn’t manage to duck the pillow in time.

***

[Beer (1/2) Sequel to Wake up Call](http://www.livejournal.com/users/jasmasson/12883.html)


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